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<title>in which Kageyama Tobio cannot read (and consequently, gets lost at the train station.) by akikoe</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25108354">in which Kageyama Tobio cannot read (and consequently, gets lost at the train station.)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/akikoe/pseuds/akikoe'>akikoe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia), Attempt at Humor, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Kageyama Tobio, Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Manga Spoilers, College Student Todoroki Natsuo, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Good Sibling Todoroki Natsuo, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Honestly this is a mess, I Don't Even Know, Kageyama Tobio is a Mess, Kageyama needs to get his act together, POV Todoroki Natsuo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:22:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,036</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25108354</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/akikoe/pseuds/akikoe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“What about you?” Natsuo asks after a while. “How do you train?”</p>
  <p>Kageyama doesn’t answer immediately, and when Natsuo turns back to look at him, the expression on the high schooler’s face is so deeply contemplative that he braces himself for whatever can of worms he’s opened and wonders if he should regret asking.</p>
  <p>“Daily,” Kageyama finally says.</p>
  <p>Natsuo decides that it would be rude to laugh. Especially since the kid looks dead serious.</p>
</blockquote>Natsuo is on his way home from college. Kageyama is on his way home from youth camp. Awkwardness ensues.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Todoroki Natsuo &amp; Kageyama Tobio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>in which Kageyama Tobio cannot read (and consequently, gets lost at the train station.)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span><strong>TODOROKI NATSUO, FULL-TIME</strong> university student and part-time coffee addict, does not generally have the time to ferry around random strangers who can’t read the signs at the train station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But something about that kid with black hair and a closed-off expression on his face reminds him of his youngest brother, and that is how he finds himself asking a miffed-looking high schooler if he needs help getting anywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look that the kid gives him in return is impressively sharp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo raises an amused eyebrow. “Just walking laps around the station for fun, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A twitching of the high schooler’s mouth. “I’m—fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo glances at the piece of paper in the kid’s hand, which is covered in what looks like instructions on how to get to a station that is decidedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> this one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re looking to get to the Tōhoku Line, you need to change lines at the next station,” Natsuo says. “You’d better hurry, though. The last train should be leaving soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid looks over at him, but then glances away, muttering a tiny “</span>
  <em>
    <span>thanks</span>
  </em>
  <span>”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And proceeds to walk in the wrong direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The high schooler turns around, and Natsuo jerks his thumb at a different exit. “This way. It says on the sign.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A curt nod, then he’s power walking in that direction, knuckles whitening as he grips the straps of his bag tightly and refuses to make eye contact when he speeds past the university student.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo rubs the back of his neck and sighs.</span>
  <em>
    <span> He’s… kind of hopeless</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he walks up to the guy, who looks conflicted trying to decide between which corridor to go down, and turns to the right. “I’ll take you there,” Natsuo says resignedly. “The kanji on the signs can be a little confusing, I’ll admit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t—say anything about the kanji.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the kid follows closely behind him, bag tossed over his shoulder and hands stuffed in the pockets of his black jacket. Natsuo glances over his shoulder as he walks. “What’s your name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kageyama. Tobio.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kageyama only responds with a blunt “</span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>”, and the conversation dies right there. The platform that they arrive at is occupied by remaining overtime businessmen, idling around the post-peak-hour station with earphones in. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, and the ceiling rumbles slightly as the trains on the platform above pass through with faint screeches. Kageyama sets his bag down on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo catches a glimpse of the back of the jacket he’s wearing. “You go to Karasuno?” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kageyama inclines his head. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re in the volleyball club?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A short silence, and Natsuo tries to figure out </span>
  <em>
    <span>how to stop the one-word responses, because it’s getting way too tiring to carry this awkward mess of a conversation</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “What position do you play?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kageyama flexes his fingers. “Setter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo waits, but the kid doesn’t appear to have anything more to say. With a sigh, he faces the train tracks and decides to call it quits on today’s attempt to have a friendly conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you play?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question catches him off-guard, and Natsuo does a double-take. Kageyama stares at him with a startling intensity in his eyes, a sharp contrast from the shuttered air he seemed to radiate earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t play,” Natsuo says after processing the question. “I’m honestly more of a soccer, basketball kinda guy. My brother does, though. He’s really good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What position does he play?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same as you. Setter.” Natsuo grins internally—he’d found the right topic. “At Yuuei High.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuuei High,” Kageyama repeats, almost to himself. “That powerhouse school. With Tōgata Mirio? And Bakugō Katsuki and Todoroki Shōtō?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo blinks. “He’s—actually Shōtō—how do you know him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kageyama gives him a look of absolute, dumbfounded disbelief. “You’re Todoroki’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I know him! He’s Todoroki Enji’s son—the number two volleyball player in </span>
  <em>
    <span>all of Japan—you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> Todoroki Enji’s son—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah… yeah.” Natsuo tries for a nonchalant shrug. “That… would be correct.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What—</span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that big of a deal,” Natsuo says, and he’s starting to fear for the kid’s head, because the high schooler seriously looks like he’s about to combust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of training does he do? How long does he practise for? What about his rest days? Does he—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s interrupted by a screeching of brakes as the train arrives at the station, doors opening with a pleasant </span>
  <em>
    <span>ding</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly,” Natsuo says, stepping on to the train, “I’m not quite sure. He spent most of his time focusing on Shōtō when he was younger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kageyama follows behind him, a contemplative sound coming from his throat. The train starts to move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your brother’s got it lucky,” Kageyama mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo can’t stop the mirthless laugh that comes from his throat. “Opposite, actually,” he says dryly, lips curling into a smile that is bitterer than it should be. Memories of silent dinners, bandaged arms, and training until his brothers had screamed for it to stop echo through his mind. “I’m luckier to have escaped his training.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo’s smile tightens. “You don’t wanna know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spend the rest of the train ride in relative silence, until the doors open in a soft rush and Natsuo steps out, Kageyama following after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The station is quiet, not unusual for this hour, their footsteps a lulling rhythm against the platform and the muted conversations around them a quiet droning in the background.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you?” Natsuo asks after a while. “How do you train?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kageyama doesn’t answer immediately, and when Natsuo turns back to look at him, the expression on the high schooler’s face is so deeply contemplative that he braces himself for whatever can of worms he’s opened and wonders if he should regret asking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daily,” Kageyama finally says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo decides that it would be rude to laugh. Especially since the kid looks dead serious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” is all Natsuo can bring himself to say, because right there and then, he decides that this guy is Shōtō’s long lost twin or something. “That sounds intense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember to take breaks. Personal maintenance is important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re right.” Natsuo checks the signs and heads up a staircase, glancing back to make sure that Kageyama’s still with him. “Still, to practise every day means a whole lot of dedication. You must really like volleyball.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Natsuo’s prepared for the one-word response. “How long have you been playing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since I was a kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo waits, but again, Kageyama doesn’t seem like he wants to say anything else. He thinks of asking another question, but the conversation’s starting to sound like an interview, so—different course of action.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shōtō started when he was a kid, too,” he offers. “Stray volleyballs everywhere around the house. They were a pain to tidy away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everywhere around the house?” Kageyama repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” They arrive at the platform, where a sign cheerfully displays that the next and final train will be departing the station in twelve minutes. A ridiculously long time to wait, considering that just earlier, the trains had been coming every few minutes or so. He could leave now—all that’s left to do is to linger. But—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d spent this long trying to get Kageyama to talk, and really, another twelve minutes won’t make too much of a difference. He can just catch a taxi back home, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must’ve had a lot of volleyballs,” Kageyama says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo laughs. “Yeah, well,” he says, texting Fuyumi that he’ll be home a little later than planned, and not to wait up for him. She’ll most likely be up marking tests, anyway, but it doesn’t hurt to try. “I guess it came with having that old man around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kageyama frowns a bit, then he seems to realise who Natsuo is referring to. The screen overhead blinks as the wait time for the train drops to eleven minutes, and a prerecorded reminder to stay behind the platform lines echoes tinnily over the PA system.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Natsuo says, not wanting to let the conversation fizzle out again, “you said you’d been playing since you were a kid. Who’d you learn from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My grandfather.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kageyama fiddles with the straps on his bag, evenly clipped nails digging into the fabric. Standing right next to him, Natsuo realises how tall the kid is—taller than Shōtō for sure, and—</span>
  <em>
    <span>no way</span>
  </em>
  <span>—maybe even a little taller than him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Didn’t he say he was a first-year?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo glances away. “Your grandfather must be proud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waiting time drops to ten minutes; Natsuo sticks his hands in his pockets. This station is smaller than the previous one, and despite it being winter, the platform is pleasantly warm. “I mean, you train every day, so you must be good. If not, hardworking. Plus, who wouldn’t be proud of that height? I bet your vertical is impressive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kageyama looks away. “Could be higher,” he says, but the furrow between his eyebrows eases a little. He stares straight ahead, fluorescent lights reflected in stormy blue eyes—a different shade from the trademark Todoroki turquoise, but just as heavy, the same kind of expectation weighing down on him that Shōtō carries around far more than he should have to. He exhales softly. “I need to get stronger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there it is—Natsuo calls it ‘the burden of being a genius’. He doesn’t know whether Kageyama himself is a genius or not, but it’s that look of being crushed by expectations; a look that he hates seeing because he associates it with screams of pain echoing through the house and training until skin is broken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He associates it with Enji’s treatment of his family, and he hates it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo swallows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t say anything, because frankly, after that, he isn’t sure what to break the silence with, and he should leave right now, but screw it; he may as well make sure Kageyama catches his train. He can do that much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unexpectedly, Kageyama is the one who breaks the next silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was it like?” he asks, and Natsuo tilts his head questioningly before the high schooler barrels on. “Growing up in a family like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natsuo considers the question. They all know how to go deadly silent when they hear heavy footsteps approaching, and his mother’s smile is more tired than it should be. He deflects the question back at Kageyama. “What’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> family life like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid lifts a shoulder. “Since my sister stopped playing and my grandfather died, I’ve been the only one playing volleyball.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Natsuo thinks of how Fuyumi is better at bandaging than she should have to be, and how he’d snuck home a new manga volume for Shōtō the first night their mother hadn’t been home. Because through it all, at least they’d had support from each other, while Kageyama sounds like he hasn’t had anyone to turn to in a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The train screeches to a stop in front of them with a hiss of brakes. Kageyama shoulders his bag, looking back at Natsuo before he steps on board the train. “Tell your brother to remember Karasuno—we’ll make it to nationals. And we’ll win.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A faint smile tugs at Natsuo’s lips. “I’ll tell him that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The train doors slide closed, and Natsuo’s phone buzzes with a text message from Fuyumi saying that she’d left dinner for him in the fridge and that she’ll make tea for the both of them when he comes home. A warm feeling stirs in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He texts back an </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then he hesitates before typing an additional message.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuyumi’s reply is a series of exclamation marks, and he pockets his phone with the smile still on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s always hated family dinners, but Shōtō could’ve so easily ended up like Kageyama, with no one in his family to turn to, and the rest of them could’ve chosen to turn their backs on each other whenever the screaming started, but they hadn’t. He’s not going to this family dinner for Enji, but he’ll do it to see Fuyumi’s smile and Shōtō eating nothing but cold soba.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if he can’t forgive his father, for his siblings, he’ll be there.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>be friends with me on <a href="https://twitter.com/akikoe14">twitter</a> or <a href="https://akikoe14.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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